For You, or for the Birds that don't shut up in the morning, I'm not really sure.

Wake me up tomorrow
the easy way, through open blinds
and give me time to roll over and over
until I just can't sleep any longer and I'll lie there
a little more, hear the sounds of the park down the road, remember the park
down the road on the last day of high school, the cops were after us that night
and we just went to the park, slept in the car and woke up sweating in the rising sun, dogs
barking on early morning walks while we came down dizzy, and after slurpees at gas station up the road
I was good to take the car home, drop you off around the corner so you could make up a night, and nobody would know
how happy we were to do nothing much at all, to climb the willow trees by the baseball fields only to climb back down,
and when you wake me up tomorrow and it's all over I'll miss nobody because sometimes I don't sleep in the car, and some mornings
I still don't wake up on time and I can look outside to a sunlit sky, have no idea if it's June or January, years later, have no idea what that 'later' might mean
and whistle a song that reminds me of you
as if you still lived down the street.